Setting Sun
by Blufle
Summary: The war has been won, but not all secrets have been told. Small adventures still remain to be had. A series of drabbles and oneshots, each focusing on a different character and/or pairing. Post-finale. Chapter 1: Even insanity is a tale worth telling.


**The first of many drabshots -- a crossover between drabbles and oneshots. Maybe I should just call it "brain barf." Either way, first up is Azula's post-finale experience. Not sure how many of these I'll be doing, so she may make an appearance in a later edition**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, settings, etc.**

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_Plink. Plink. _

No. Not that one. Please not that one…

_Clink. Clank. Crrssstt. _

It was getting worse. Anything but these two, anything! Just make it stop…

_Tiptiptipsscccrrrreeee._

Relief.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

A slight misstep every time the left foot hit the floor could only mean one thing.

_Sccccrrrreeeeeecccccchhhhh….ssshhhh._

Silence.

Her golden eyes flitted to the tray on the floor. Food was in her room again. Nothing could get dirty. It wasn't proper. It wouldn't present well. Nothing. She had to eat it.

Ragged breathing accompanied her as she ate. The taste meant little as the food mixed in her mouth, then slid down her throat. Don't get it on the floor. Don't get it on your robes — for goodness sake, not the robes. It's your last set, the last one. The royal guards couldn't give her more, this was her last chance. She had to be the perfect picture, the perfect painting — a work of art. A thing of beauty and majesty. For goodness sake, not the robes.

Chew six times, swallow.

Chew six times, swallow.

Chew six ti— wait. It was gone. Good. Everything was clean again. No messing up this time. Not this time.

Her room was beautiful. It seemed the very epitome of Fire Nation regality. Large and spacious, splashed with crimson and gold. Everything was bigger than it needed to be. Her bed could easily sleep an entire family. Not that she'd ever tried to prove that claim as truth. No. She only ever used the center, near the top. Center, top. Where she liked to be.

No, no. That wouldn't do. It can't be here. What's this piece of straw? Her slender fingers groped for it before finally making contact. She flung it out the window. No messing up. It was supposed to be perfect. A work of art. A thing of beauty and majesty. No straw. Not this time.

_Knock, knock._

More sounds. She didn't move.

_Knock, knock, knock._

More persistent this time.

A man walked in the room.

No, he can't have come in. She didn't allow his entry. But then, he was here. She must have said something. She did. She let him in. He wouldn't have come otherwise. She let him in.

"Done already, I see," sneered the voice. Her head shot up. Something obscured her vision. It was dark and long and thin. She reached for it, to move it out of the way. Her way. Her hand met nothing. Her face. It was on her face. She pushed the hair out of the way and stared at the man with an empty gaze.

"Were it up to me, you'd only be getting one meal a day. But for some reason, _he _saw it fit to keep you alive with three. Tch," the man spat on the floor, then bent over and picked up the empty food tray. "Payback for banishing me."

But his words were lost before they reached her ears.

"Get out!" She screamed. "GET OUT!" Blue fire licked the edges of her mouth.

The man jumped and nearly dropped the tray he was carrying. She filled her gaze with poison and shot it at him again. She heard a voice laughing. Laughing at the fear on his face. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the laughing. It wouldn't stop. She banged her head against the wall until a warm, sticky feeling slithered down the side of her face and dripped onto her robes.

The laughing had stopped. But now she heard crying. Looking at her robes, she realized she had managed to get stains on them somehow. How did that happen? The food was gone. The man took it. She had gotten rid of it, and then the man took the food tray. They were supposed to be perfect. Her room was perfect, her robes were perfect. She was supposed to be perfect. There was no messing up. Not this time.

The soft crying had grown into wailing.

The side of her head hurt. Strands of darkness were obscuring her vision again. Her room had vanished. The man took it with him. He took it all. What was left but stone, straw, and rats?

_Plink. Plink._

Not that noise, not that noise.

_Clink. Clank. Crrssstt._

Strangled moans replaced the wails.

_Plink. Clink. Plink. Clank. _

She was chained. She was chained, she was in a lake, and she was chained. Her arms struggled to move. Her lungs burned to breathe. She was chained.

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**The writing style was intentional. Crazy people's thoughts aren't exactly easy to follow, nor are they coherent. Naturally they rethink a lot of the same lines, and relive particularly significant moments in their lives without realizing it's actually... not happening. Sorry if it was hard to understand.**

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End file.
